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Dead Awakened/Episode 2 (old)
This is the second episode of Dead Awakened, released in November 12, 2013. A Brief Outlook, Part 2 Time: 10:34 AM Ramillo could never wrap his head around driving. Back in New York, he seldom needed to do it. This city happens to have less public transport and he still doesn’t have a good grasp of which bus goes where, or which stop to take. That was why he let Jaime drive. This moment, even if it was so brief, reminded him of his arrival here; Jaime, too, was the driver when he was picked up in the airport. He’s undertaken that very role of the silent chauffeur very well; even if Ramillo’s sitting up front with him, he was still quiet. Not that Ramillo wasn’t outgoing. Jaime just has that aura around him that makes anyone stumble for a topic to initiate with. What was he going to say to him? How’s the family? How’s the job? Silence has already unfolded for so long, it’s already too late without creating some awkwardness. Ramillo instead trades his probable words for the windowsill. They weren’t too far from their apartments. Jaime fidgets with the overhead mirror briefly. “How you been, man?” Ramillo nonchalantly turns to him, brows slightly raised up. This was definitely something new. He plays it off by delaying his response and resuming his window-watching. “Good.” Jaime’s spoken more words here than in the airport trip. Ramillo fills the air with further silence, not quite happy with his impromptu reply. “That’s good man,” Jaime replies, his light Spanish accent sliding off to a friendly tone. The car slows down to a halt, approaching a curb with some cars parked in it. Ramillo got a rare chance. A chance to make small-talk with the silent Jaime. -------- Place: Bellforde Police Department Time: 11:02 AM It wasn’t much of a busy day for the department today, at least according to Officer Blair Mezzino. Blair is a well-known police officer in the department, most notably because of her work etiquette. She doesn’t want to believe that it’s her gender, nor her tendencies to put personal beliefs over law at times, but it catches up. And so she tries to mask it with hard work, be it tending to the paperwork or participating in a cold case, only to quit on it later on. The result is usually stress, and more stress, but it at least it pays the bills. Blair parks her black sedan near the sidewalk, a few feet close to the station’s doors. The station was in the so-called “middle ground”; it’s still in the urban areas, yet it’s surrounded by grass and trees, almost reminiscent of a park. It was something Blair appreciates, especially since it’s such a different scene from what’s usually happening inside of it. She pulls on the parking break, and takes out the keys from the ignition. To her left, in the passenger seat, sat a pink box. What would a cop be without an assortment of donuts? Blair takes the box of donuts with one hand and exits out of her vehicle. She circles the hood and walks onto the cement pathway that leads into the department. The architecture of it, at first glance, was something to admire, at least in Blair’s eyes; its smooth pillars, white-and-gray stucco, and window arrangement are a product of its “modernization.” The redesign of the building happened a few months ago, and Blair was delighted with it. No longer was it a decades-old, crumbling, relic-of-the-old-times building. Nearing the entrance, Blair checks on the contents of the box. A few of her co-workers always had requests, and she can never keep up with them. They always ignore it in the end and let the donuts speak for themselves anyway. There were a few jelly-filled ones, chocolate ones, and at least two coated with coconut flakes. And there were two-dozen. Plenty for the people present in the department today. She closes the box, puts it aside, and starts walking up the short set of stairs. She slips through the glass entrance and meets eyes with the front desk guy right away. Apart from him, the slowness of the day was apparent around them, as there was practically nobody else in the lobby area. “Herb,” she says, and she transfers the box to both her hands. The man in the front desk was middle-aged, and had a distinct, brown mustache that took the attention away from his balding head. “Here.” She walks up to the desk and hands Herb the box, who takes it with a smile and sets it aside behind him. “Just make sure it reaches the lounge.” Herb nods and turns to it, opening and taking one for himself. Blair does a quick waving gesture and walks away. She passes through a curved hall and eventually enters an office area, where lines of desks and cubicles could be seen. On a typical busy day, this place would’ve been bustling and noisy. But today, there was only about two to three people in there. She notices one person in particular, sitting on his desk with his chin resting on his hand. He had short, brown hair, a blue suit, and that bored, unfriendly look he’d always have. “Afternoon James,” Blair calls, slipping her arms out of the sleeves of her jacket and hanging it on the rack in front of her. She takes out a set of keys from her pocket and walks over to him. The man, James, looks at her briefly before returning to the screen in front of him, his gesture unchanging. Minding the quiet environment, Blair doesn’t bother to say anything further and walks over to James. She assumed he was working right now, but judging from his look, he was probably just reading something. Her cubicle wasn’t too far from where he was sitting. She stops beside him briefly to have a peek of what he was looking at. It was just an article from a website. She heads for her desk soon after, but she’s forced to stop when she realizes the text displayed in that article. She goes back to re-read them again. “Fifteen killed in Mall hostage-taking; one perpetrator identified as daughter of police officer,” it said, in bold letters. Blair’s expression drops into seriousness. She looks at James, and sees him staring past the screen. “James I—I forgot it was today—” Blair says, and she slowly folds her arms tightly. The event in the article was something they were made to forget, and it somewhat worked. She almost forgot about the date. “Best if we just do,” James responds, with a bit of indifference. He unfolds his arm down and closes the window on the screen. He stares at it for a few more seconds, before he leans back on his chair and partially covers his mouth with his hand. His stare doesn’t change. “Why’d you go to work today?” Blair asks. “You should’ve taken a day off or something…” “I can’t,” James replies, looking up to Blair. “And you know why I can’t. I still owe them.” “Owe them what?” Blair brushes a bit of her hair aside. “If anything, today should be your designated holiday.” James looks away, clearly not choosing to listen to her. They both go silent, with Blair waiting for some sort of response from him. “Did you eat yet?” James asks, and it promptly confuses Blair. “What?—” James stands up from his chair and unfolds his sleeve. “Still pretty early…” He looks at Blair. “Did you? Eat yet?” “James I—” “Suit yourself. Dee and I found this sandwich place. Was gonna take you with us.” Just like that, James’s silent intensity was gone. He shrugs and starts walking toward the exit leading to the hall. “No,” Blair replies a bit loudly, and it stops James. “I…” She looks away impatiently and sighs. “I haven’t.” “Great. Come on then.” James walks out of the exit, expecting Blair to follow. Blair continues to look at the back of his head in confusion. She briskly walks to the rack, grabs her jacket, and soon follows James. -------- Somehow, Blair has found herself a passenger of James, with him driving to this so-called “sandwich place.” She finally figures it out after ten minutes of silence. “So this is your form of ignoring it?” she asks. James doesn’t bother to look, instead focused on the cars ahead of him. “I don’t like to sit around thinking about it,” he finally responds, after more prolonged silence. “Today isn’t exactly the best day for that.” With that answer, Blair gets a little bit more closure. She’s known James long enough for her to recognize this kind of attitude. They’ve been in the same department for six years, after all. He never likes to dwell on his problems. She always tries to bring them out. It’s something that James always hated, but he usually had no choice. It’s either her, or nobody else who would listen to him. Their car comes to a halt. James realizing they’re in a small traffic jam. He taps impatiently on his wheel and tries his best to avoid looking at Blair. Blair couldn’t hold off the questions, however. She wasn’t exactly settled with how James was dealing with this. The more she knows, the sooner she’ll be settled. “How’s the investigation? Any leads?” James quietly contains himself from rudely asking Blair to stop. But he knows her well enough to not refuse her, even though he’s done it so many times already. “Nope,” he simply says. Work was something he wants to put off right now. “How’s Lilly doing?” “Gonna…” He purses his lips once, his eyes still busy scanning through the traffic. “Gonna visit her this afternoon.” So there was something going on today after all. Blair’s reaction was a silent nod. She finally decides to hold off her questions, afraid that she might irk him some more. She couldn’t exactly help it, because she’s been helping James from day one. This was almost like a routine to them. Blair still remembers every detail. She’s read it in the reports, read the summary to herself over and over, read articles about it. She also took part in the investigation, until it was eventually handed to the higher-ups. She, along with James’s other co-workers, would help him keep his job. He had to, so that he can continue his own investigation. He was the so-called “father” in that article. The father tied to the “one perpetrator.” Officer James Sully is the father of Lilly Sully, a suspect and member participating in a hostage-taking of a mall. She, along with fourteen others, managed to hold at least a hundred people hostage for at least nineteen hours, until they were ultimately forced to give in to the pressure of law enforcement. Some of them were killed. Others fled. At least three of them, including Lilly, were spared and held for questioning. “I never got to say thank you,” James says, and it takes Blair away from her thoughts. She finds herself still in the same scene, with the cars and traffic buzzing around her. It felt like it’s been at least half an hour with all that thinking. “So… thank you. For helping me out.” This was a surprise to Blair, coming from James. He wasn’t always the one who gives thanks. “It’s the least I could do,” she replies. It was tough for James. She knew he couldn’t bare all of that responsibility alone. She takes it as a cue the subject to change. “So does that mean you’re gonna treat me?” This sudden kindness from James was almost too good to be true, that it almost made her chuckle. James hadn’t smiled the whole time, even when he said thanks. He glances at her and replies with a blunt “No.” -------- Place: Grant Community College, Calloway Building Room 206 Time: 11:59 AM Grant Community was more than ten miles away from the police department, away from the urban city scene. Much like the other colleges in the city, Grant Community was built on top of a mountain, with green landscapes surrounding it. But to accommodate its twenty-thousand students, Grant had to have the buildings and rooms. The result was a collection of buildings, some standing on higher platforms, others on the lower leveled ground. This particular campus well-known for its amount of stairs and ramps. The Calloway building was at the far corner of the college. It was a normal kind of school day, but with fewer students walking around. The semester was reaching its end, after all. There were only three weeks left of school. Room 206 was a good example of a “fourth quarter class.” There were only about a fraction left of the original roster; eight of the thirty students were still present. Two, in particular, liked to sit at the end of the room. Yasmin Collins, and Martineya Hyunji. Yasmin was on her second semester here, attending her last class of the day. To her left was Martineya, or Neya for short, her best friend and room-slash-classmate. It could easily be said that they’re sisters, with the identical height and long hair, but Yasmin’s Native-American ancestry and Martineya’s visible Korean look set them both apart. They were both looking on the respective notebooks on top of their desks. Yasmin was reading her notes from the other day, tapping her pencil on her temple. Neya, on the other hand, was scribbling lively in her’s. Yasmin turns to look at her, noticing her huddled concentration on it. “We have a test today,” she says, tapping her arm with her pencil. “She probably won’t remember it,” Neya replies instantly, almost done scribbling a poorly illustrated monkey wearing a dress. “She’s a replacement. Of course she’ll remember it.” Yasmin stops relaxing on her seat and puts her pencil down. Any minute now, their new teacher was going to enter. She scans through the room and observes her classmates for a bit. The six of the eight were all sitting up front, except for one. Annberlin Junichi, or Ann for short. She was sitting one desk to the side of Neya, all of her attention currently devoted on her phone. Ann, with her short, black hair, distinct jewelry bracelets, and dark clothing, can easily be mistaken for a posh, uptight, and arrogant person. But in truth, she was just quiet, and it’s usually hard to reach her. Neya has taken up the task of getting to know her, because “Asians need to stick together.” Yasmin thought it was ridiculous, but she did end up getting to know Ann more because of that. To their front side of the desks was Leonas Pacavello, better known as Leon. He was the complete opposite of Ann, having the confidence, looks, and charisma to talk to any and every person in this school. He was busy socializing among his friends and others in the class. As much as he was popular, Leon was nice guy who tries to be a friend of all. Yasmin, and Neya for that matter, have no gripes about him. Yasmin was about to go back to studying when someone enters the room. She thought it was the new teacher at first, but the way he walked right in, eyes looking for a desk, told her otherwise. He scans the whole room a few times before choosing to say something. “This is English 3B, right? Mrs. Heller?” he asks, looking over everyone and brushing his semi-long hair away from his eyes. Yasmin assumed right away that he was the social type, with his knit beanie and appearance alone. “Yeah,” Leon replies, naturally, because he was the closest. The man just casually nods and glances at the desks one more time, before choosing to move. Yasmin tries to get back to her studies, half-watching him as he makes his way toward them, all the way to the back. She chooses to fully commit to it once he walks to a seat nearby and sits on it. New students, especially at a time like this, were rare. At least, that’s what Yasmin believed. The semester was about to be over and they were minutes away from the first part of their finals. Somehow, they earn a new student out of it. The man stays silent for a minute, continually scanning the room. Eventually he takes his beanie off and taps Yasmin on the shoulder. “Where’s the teacher?” he asks. The way he sounded so naturally placid put Yasmin at ease a little bit. “She, uh… she took a leave.” Yasmin looks at the white board up front briefly before looking at him. “Supposed to get a new professor today.” Neya looks on with her, but only for a few seconds. “Oh.” The man casually nods. They let the chatter of the people up front continue on for a bit. “Name’s Bruno, by the way.” Yasmin looks over her shoulder to acknowledge it. “Got transferred just today… then again, I was a late-reg, so I’m not surprised…” She nods a few times and eventually says “Yasmin.” “Yasmin. Nice to meet you.” She modestly smirks at him, then shifts her look over to Neya. She was still too caught up with her drawings. Neya did sense Yasmin’s look, and she promptly puts her pencil down and does a 180-degree turn. “Martineya. Last two syllables are my nickname.” She mostly did it to take a look of this new guy. His appearance wasn’t half-bad. She awkwardly looks at his arms before deciding to return to her drawings again. “Sorry,” Yasmin adds. “She likes to…” She attempts to peek at her drawings, but Neya was much too huddled over them to make them visible. “… likes to draw all kinds of things when she’s bored.” Bruno, who’s put down his backpack by now, smiles. Yasmin shrugs and turns back to her studies. “By the way we—we have a test today. I take it you’re prepared?” Bruno pulls one brow up. “Uh, yeah… I heard about but… I came from a completely different class…” Yasmin gives him a reluctant stare, but she is soon forced to look away once the sound of moving polyester and business enters through the front door. It appears that their new teacher’s finally arrived. -------- Today just couldn’t get any better. It was a last-minute call. She was expecting to appear the next day. She didn’t have time to shower, let alone fix her hair for this occasion. She ended up looking like a stressed, overworked faculty member, too caught up in her stress to even teach. But she partly entered this class to prove them wrong. She did want to teach, though she could’ve had better preparation for it. She was only 29, and she could proudly call herself an English professor. Well, at least after today, she could. She was known to be one of the youngest in her batch to graduate with a degree. She was starting her job in an ideal environment, a community college, and she couldn’t be more glad. Especially since she looked so much like her students, looking much younger for her age. She was staring dumbfounded, in what would be the first class she’ll ever teach. She plays it off by doing a head count, murmuring numbers. She unstraps her bag and places it to the side of her desk. She was actually surprised; she expected to see what was three times the class size was right now. She was surprised, in a good way. With this small amount, she was actually going to be able to control it. This day couldn’t get any better. “Good… morning—” She looks at her wrist watch, and the clock above the door. “I—I mean afternoon. Good afternoon everyone.” She smiles at everyone briefly and goes to take the contents out of her bag. She takes her puffy jacket off, the jacket she had managed to wear going out the door, and rests it on the chair of her desk. She wore a casual, beige turtleneck, a business skirt, and some boots. A casual teacher’s outfit. An outfit she’d have already planned long beforehand, placed aside in her dresser for that faithful day… And that day begins now. She takes out a small stack of folders, and sees the clipboard of where she was going to take her attendance. She looks over it and decides to take it. “My…” She was caught up with all the names in the chart; it clearly listed about twenty-six lines, and there were only about nine in the class right now. “My name’s Adelaide Niederhauser…” She speeds through her name fairly quickly to the point that it needed a repeat, but she’s already said it. “… but you can call me Adel…” She scans the room one more time, feeling a bit nervous at calling all of these names to check off who’s here and who isn’t. “… or Ms. Niederhauser, or Ms. N… for. Short. For short. Yeah.” She stares at her class for a second, nodding, and she walks back to her desk. She takes out a pair of glasses from a box and puts it on, making sure to grab a pen along with it. “O… kay.” She continues to look at her clipboard, clearly unsure of what she’s going to do. But then it eventually comes to her. “Know what I’m gonna do?” She puts her hands to her sides casually. “I’m just gonna ask for everyone’s name and I’m going to mark you here because… this paper…” She brings up her clipboard again, now preparing to write. “… has the original roster from the—the beginning of the semester. That about sound good?” Everyone just stares at her, with a few of them nodding. No vocal yes’s, though. “Okay then.” She walks up a little bit closer to the desks, and points to the first student she sees. “Name…?” She gets a quick “Mark Brando” as a response, and she moves on to the next student, and the next… Yasmin and Neya couldn’t help but watch her, out of fascination. There she was, a young, female replacement to the old Mrs. Heller. Though she showed no control at first, she was quickly making up for it by taking attendance this way. And that wasn’t even the best part. The icing on the cake was that she was British. Her accent was so authentic, that Yasmin, and Neya especially, were so close to expressing their excitement. They could only look at each other with bright smiles on their faces. Yasmin hadn’t expected this much. She was waiting for a boring old male professor, who was probably going to continue Mrs. Heller’s monotonous ways of teaching. But instead they get a young, female professor, with a British accent. “And … you guys over there?” Adelaide starts with Ann, and she works her way to Neya, then to Yasmin, then to Bruno last. Neya couldn’t control her volume too much, but she managed to hide her enthusiasm enough. “… Hyunji… Yasmin Marie Collins… and… Bruno,” Adelaide recites. Was she really reading the name right? “Your name is… Bruno… Lastname?” Bruno, who was casually sitting on his desk, notices all of this attention and straightens up a bit. “Y-yeah. Bruno uh… Lastname.” He tries not to be weird about it, but the shared looks of everyone, Yasmin and Neya especially, were pressuring him to give in. “O… kay. Bruno Lastname.” Adelaide marks his name off and somehow remembers the note to go along with it; that Bruno kid was a new student. “Okay… attendance done.” She puts the pen and clipboard aside, and walks over to the back of her desk. “I…” She notices the white board behind her and decides to put aside what she was going to say, taking a black marker from the board rack instead. “Oh, I almost forgot…” She writes her whole name out on the board, making sure to write it as neatly and as big as she can. Adelaide Niederhauser. She was starting to feel like a teacher already. “Alright, guess that’s done…” She puts the marker aside, and takes the stack of folders from her desk with one hand. “Mrs. Heller told me to… continue the class, whatever you guys were doing when she was here. There was supposed to be a test today, yes…?” She quizzically looks at everyone and receives a few nods. “Yeah, so…” She unflaps one folder and notices the blue piece of paper inside of it. “…we talked it over the phone and, since this is technically my first day, I won’t make myself look bad and just push the test to another day. I’m gonna try to catch up, and while at it, I’m going to help you prepare for it a little bit better. Sound good?” Again, a few more nods resound, but she couldn’t help notice the two girls in the back, smiling at her as if they needed to say something. -------- Place: Pruit Avenue Park Time: 3:04 PM Four hours later, Kenberg found himself in the same place, staring at the same scene, no matter how much it’s changed since time passed. He only left it to get lunch, and even that wasn’t too far; a food truck vendor passed by the park not too long ago. He’d switch constantly from sitting on the bench, to standing on his feet. He never stayed in one position, since it gets boring. And it was his thoughts. It just kept him moving, made him seek something different to look at. He never got tired of the curved landscape of the park, its green grass with certain spots of soil here and there switching in between, all from the footprints of the joggers that passed by it. He never got tired of the spots with the trees, or the benches where families, dog walkers or salarymen sat, busy with their phones, unable to let go of work. If that got old, he had the scene of the skyscrapers outside the park. There was always something different to rest his eyes on, so that he can keep the flow of his thoughts continuous. What thoughts exactly, he never wanted to get into. His past, the old days when waking up was as challenging as pointing a gun at someone. The cause of those days, his anguish… it was best that he left it in the past. For good, if that was even possible. His attention switched from the man playing with a frisbee to the dark, shadowy figure chasing the tails of his other brethren. Striker. He’s been one of the closest friends he’s ever had, not long after the days of his crisis. He had Striker ever since he could hold him with his two hands. Now, he doesn’t even want to be carried anymore. Kenberg was sitting on a bench this time, one leg resting on top of his other knee. He was relaxed, yet there was the look of deep thought in his face. A mix of happiness and reminiscence, combining into this semi-unsure, yet concentrated look. His eyes followed Striker wherever he went. And Striker soon sensed it. He stops chasing this white collie’s tail, and turns to Kenberg eye-to-eye. Kenberg straightens up. Striker, all the way to the other side, trots at a steady pace toward Kenberg, past the frisbee man, past the kite-flying kids, past two joggers. He approaches and looks up at him, wagging his tail at an unpredictable, unsure rhythm. As if he knows what’s on his mind. “What?” Kenberg asks, unable to hold back his chuckle; the way Striker was able to read him just from his look alone was not only a testament to how he trained him, but how… smart the little dude was. Striker slightly tilts his head in response to hearing his words. The two stare at each other for a few seconds. Kenberg leans forward and sets both his elbows on his lap. He pets Striker’s head, brushing it a few times until Striker sways away. He’s not into getting petted anymore. Striker keeps staring Kenberg for one more second and decides to trot away, back toward the direction of the free-roaming dogs he had just left behind a while ago. It was a bummer that he wasn’t the obedient, submissive type anymore, but at least his senses were still in line with Kenberg’s. It was a product of his independence. He’s taught him very well. Kenberg maintains his position, now back to watching the people instead of the animals. His eyes trail the same joggers from earlier, then the family of three, thinking about the day he lived all alone in his house, which was once bustling with activity— “Kenny boy.” Kenberg slightly straightens up to the familiar voice, which he heard from beside him. He doesn’t bother to look. “Heh. Figured you’d still be here.” Sullivan pats Kenberg’s shoulder and seats himself right beside him, forcing him to scoot. Sullivan right away shows comfort in his seat by leaning back against it, stretching, and exhaling silently. Kenberg’s familiar with his uncle’s tendencies to relax anywhere, so he keeps his stern look, but he did light up a bit after a few more seconds. “What’s up amigo?” Sullivan asks. Same, buddy-pitched tone. He accompanies it with a pat to the back. Kenberg, realizing that he might look too much like an emotional wreck, relaxes his posture and assumes an easy-going expression. He stuffs both his hands on the pockets of his brown leather jacket. “Just… the usual uncle,” he says to him. Sullivan, practically lying down on the bench, glances up at Kenberg for a few seconds then straightens up himself. He assumes a slightly leaning position as Kenberg does, though he fashions it in a more… “cowboy,” old man kind of way. “Oh, yeah…? What was that?” Kenberg withholds a response, though this was usually the pace of their conversation when the subject matter is about the past. “City’s pretty nice,” Kenberg replies. A clear way of trying to sway from the subject. Sullivan gives him a wondering look, but soon ignores it. “How long’s it been since you moved here?” he continues. Sullivan finally takes his seating seriously and straightens up. “Those buildings you see over there?” He points at the distance. “I used to see nothing but mountains.” Basically, long enough for Kenberg to not worry about. He’s amused by the thought. They both go silent as they watch the park scene unfold. Really, it was bothering Sullivan that his nephew was able to find the time to just sit at the park for hours on end, doing nothing. He can’t blame him, really, but for a kid his age, he should be doing more things. Category:Dead Awakened Category:Dead Awakened Episodes Category:Issues